Physical activity works best. For us, that means cleaning the house. If the flowers that have shown up on the front steps are a sign, people will be following. The town grapevine is in full swing, reports Lina, who is otherwise silent and always efficient. Though we’ll have to be the ones to direct her on what to toss and what to keep, she immediately sets to neatening and polishing. She also digs out the large coffee urn that hasn’t been used in years.

I have two other priorities. First comes the planting on the bluff. Since I arranged to have it done, I’m the one who stays behind to supervise while Margo and Anne go to the funeral home. And they’re the right ones to work with the director there. Anne lived with Dad all these years, while Margo, his firstborn, thinks as he does. And me, who may or may not be his biological daughter? Better at home.

Not that I don’t feel guilty staying. Theirs is the heavier task. But their doing it together is a good thing. Margo insists on driving, and Anne, clutching a wad of tissues, doesn’t argue, so they’re meshing on this at least. I want to think it’s a harbinger—because it occurs to me, as I watch Margo’s rental disappear over the crest, that with Dad gone, we’re alone. Whether we keep in touch is up to us. Whether we find common ground on which to move forward is up to us. Whether we have any relationship at all is up to us.

And then there’s Paul. While my sisters welcomed his presence in the kitchen, I’m not sure they feel any further connection. I do. With Dad gone, Paul’s here, and he has answers that I want.

Once Margo and Anne have left, I walk out to the bluff. Though Jack and Joy are up to their knees in plantings, they are quickly with me, Joy full of frightened questions. Where have her aunts gone? Where is Papa right now? Even, albeit in an awkward whisper, what will she wear to a funeral, since she didn’t bring anything black?

They both also ask how I am. Joy’s concern I expect. Jack’s is a gift. When, at my urging, Joy returns to the planting, he lingers, holding my hand for a few last moments.

“If you have to go back to work…” I say, offering him an out.

“No. My partner is there. She’ll cover.”

I know little about his work. I never asked, and the timing is crazy now. But isn’t this a distraction, too? “Who is she?”

“Sara Donovan, married, three kids. A couple years back, we merged our practices. I cover for her when her kids are sick. She’ll cover for me now.” He wraps a hand around my neck, support of the first order.